who's afraid of the big bad wolf?
by hyacinthian
Summary: He's the hero. She's the villain. They're made for it. Jarod/Miss Parker.


A/N: Unbetaed. For LadyFest 2010.

* * *

Miss Parker grows up with a bitter taste in her mouth, knowing that dreams are never like cotton candy except for the way it sticks to your teeth and leaves a taste even after all the sweetness has faded. She has dreams, _had _dreams - stupid ones she knew would never have come true, though it didn't stop her hoping. She dreams of seeing her mother again, dreams of running away from Daddy with the little boy they keep, dreams of killing Mr. Raines, dreams dreams dreams that amount to nothing but wasted time and some condescending comments about why she's not doing her homework.

She grows up around hot lead and stale coffee, manipulative psychologists and suicide. It's not exactly a road map to stability.

It's probably something out of a movie that Jarod would love to parrot back at her: _Sure, I had dreams once, mister, _- something stupid, from the days of black-and-white where the girl is too pretty to be what she claims to be, where she tries on an accent that doesn't fit her - _but life ain't for the poor_. Maybe Mae West.

She grows up put-together, with high heels and a semi-automatic, muted lipstick shades and not a hair out of place; she learns how to run from behind the cage. It makes her feel powerful. It makes her feel in control. Like she hasn't been the pawn for one of Daddy's schemes her whole life, like she hasn't been used and thrown away, like the reason she's looking for Jarod isn't because he's worth so much more to them than she will ever be.

She likes to pretend.

And when she's grown up, when she reaches that state where she can glare and the sweepers will shake, when she instills _fear _in people by a glance, by a tone, she doesn't feel put-together, in control - she feels fucking angry. But she's the Ice Queen around here; freezing is much more preferable.

She hunts down Jarod because it's what she knows, because it's Daddy's dream and hasn't her dream been to please Daddy all these years? She doesn't think about it. Instead, she has those stupid phone calls, where Jarod's nice, even, tempered voice wafts through lines and wires to taunt her. _Shouldn't you have found me by now? _It is the things he doesn't say, and sure, he's a genius, but she's come close, so close, even if Sydney doesn't really try to hide his smile when she misses out on catching Jarod by minutes, seconds.

* * *

It's worth different things to the both of them - Jarod's freedom - and the exchange rate is too good to turn down.

But at night, when he calls her, when she knows that it isn't about the chase, about taunting her, that it's about Jarod and Miss Parker and the kids they try to pretend they were - she doesn't say anything, doesn't track his location down, just listens to the sound of his soft breathing and pretends this is a functional, healthy relationship and not the longest lasting fucked-up one she's ever had.

_What did you want to be when you grew up, Miss Parker? _he whispers.

She curls her freshly-painted toes against the carpeting in her apartment.

_Powerful_, she says.

And he breathes on the line for a few moments, before he reads out his latest Bazooka Joe comic, as if she cares. It's silent except for her clock in the background, ticking away the moments, ticking away her life, and she doesn't care - _she doesn't fucking care _- so if God feels so inclined, he could strike her down right now and she'd be perfectly happy because she doesn't want this. She's never wanted this. She's wanted her mother who jumped down the elevator (but not really), she wants answers, she wants knowledge, but most of all, she just wants to leave this fucked-up place she's gotten herself into, physically, mentally, emotionally, behind.

_That's not true._

You know how to read minds now, Jarod?

You wanted the same thing I wanted.

She sneers. _What, family_? And it is razor-sharp edges coming out, a defense mechanism, and she knows it, just as she knows that this nail color is ochre and that she's going to swap it out for the metallic gray-blue she always uses in a few minutes, but now, right now, she just wants to pretend that she is this bright, that she is this person who can wear ochre and feel like their lives are put-together or not-put-together in a way that means that she can be who she wants to be.

_No._

She waits it out; the fucker always knows when to be dramatic, that's for sure.

_To be loved._

This isn't a fucking Lifetime movie, so she just hisses out a vague threat and he knows, it's no longer reminiscing about the people they were or who they wanted to be, but time to fall back into old roles.

_I'm coming for you._

She never dreamed of being the big bad wolf, of playing the villain, but she's good at it and it fits.

_Fe fi fo fum_

Run away, Jarod - here I come.


End file.
